Between The Bars
by IWriteSinsOrTragedies
Summary: In the sequel to Through The Ghost Natasha and Clint have survived hell only to come back in pieces. With a powerful enemy still in play can they learn to look past their afflictions or will one of them be left standing over the others grave. Important that you read Through The Ghost first for this to make sense.
1. Prolouge

**(A/N) Well here we are again. This first chapter is kind of a reminder as to what happened previously in Through The Ghost as well as setting up the story.**

 **Thank you to all of the people who have reviewed and private messaged me. It's part of the reason that the sequel is out only a few days after the first fic ended.**

 **Also a quick word on my story A Sinner Amongst Saints my fic set after Age of Ultron (I won't go into anymore detail on it for fear of spoiling anything for anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet) I haven't given up on that one I'm just focused on my Clintasha fics and not failing school right now. I have worked on chapter two and it's about halfway done. This is the only fic that is not in the same universe as my others because of it's lack of Clintasha.**

 **Anyways I won't keep you waiting anymore, if you stuck with me through this, because you didn't click this thing to hear me babbling you want to know what happens next. So without further ado**

 **Between The Bars**

* * *

 _"Why can't I hear you?"_

The memory of those words are what brought Natasha's fist into the leather punching bag hanging in front of her. The words spoken to softly because the person who spoke them couldn't tell that he was speaking to quietly.

 _"Why can't I hear?"_

She drove her fist into the bag again.

Between Clint's pained coughing from having a tube stuck in his throat for far too long he asked these questions. They tore at Natasha's heart even now. Her partner, if she could even still call Clint that, was in pain and terribly confused. The confusion she could handle seeing, even the pain would become manageable for her with the knowledge that the medication he was on would soon numb it. The thing she couldn't handle seeing in him was the panic and fear that had been present and growing stronger from the moment he woke up.

 _"Nat, I can' hear. Why can't I hear?"_

Another punch as she remembered the spike in his heart rate that she knew he couldn't hear. Every sound that she heard in that moment, and every moment since, had brought her more grief because she knew that Clint would never be able to hear them. Not like he had been able to before at least.

She couldn't tell him what was happening, not properly. She could have tried to write it down but Clint wasn't collected enough to read anything she wrote, let alone let her away from his side long enough for her to find pen and paper. So instead she put the words she couldn't tell him in her eyes. His reaction after her attempt at telepathy told her that she had gotten the message across.

 _Clint looked around the room frantically, seeing but not hearing. He couldn't help it as his heart rate climbed and breathing became more erratic. He had only just woken up after a week long coma to find out that he had been deafened. His mind was blurred by the pain medication that was being filtered into his system, and with a concussion thrown on top of it his reaction was only to be expected. Still Natasha didn't see it coming fast enough._

 _His fight or flight mode kicked in and instead of picking one or the other he chose both. The pop of Clint dislocating his on thumb, a skill he was far too well versed in, was barely heard over the beeping monitors and the scurrying doctors. By the time that Natasha had acknowledged what the sound was it was already too late. Clint's left arm freed itself and immediately pulling the IV in his hand right off before pushed the doctor to his left away from him._

 _"Clint, stop." Phil couldn't help but yell even though the agent couldn't' hear him. He grabbed Clint's arm and forcefully pushed it down into the the mattress. Clint bucked away from Phil's hold on him. He let out a frustrated yell only to get more worked up when he couldn't hear it._

 _Natasha grabbed Clint's face in her hands like she had a moment before when he was getting the ventilator removed. Her thumb ran across his temple and slowly he soothed down. Enough so that he barely noticed the doctor sticking a needle into the crook of his arm. He was unconscious a few seconds later._

 _Natasha nearly ran out of the room. She found herself in the gym a few minutes later. Yelling at everyone to leave she got to work on the leather punching bag in the corner of the room._

Natasha continued in punching and kicking the swinging bag in front of her. She was so lost in her memories of the past few weeks. So much so that she didn't even hear Phil come into the room, she only knew of his presence when he was a few meters behind her.

"If you're here to give me a pep talk you might as well turn around." She took another swing hard enough that if it had been a person on the other end of her fist they would have been missing a few teeth when they woke up.

Phil laughed at her perceptiveness, she always was one step ahead of everybody. "I know you Natasha I'm not going to give you the classic everything is going to be okay speech. I'm also, for the record, not going to go and get Clint a hallmark card either." She didn't show sign of thinking about laughing at his joke. "You know about a week after I brought Clint in I found him exactly where you are doing exactly what you are doing. At least you had the sense to put hand guards on."

"I know what you're doing." She snapped hard enough to bring most men to their knees. "You're going to tell me about how he was at a low point and pulled himself out, and how he'll do it again and come out of this whole thing stronger. Even though whatever the shit that he was dealing with way back when isn't even comparable to what he's going through right now. There isn't anything you can say to help me right now, so just leave me alone."

"So you can punch all of your anger away?"

"I'm not angry." She snapped in a tone that was completely contradictory to the statement. She took a breath and tried it again, calmer this time. "I'm not angry."

"No," Phil rounded her and stood in between her and the abused punching bag. "If you were angry you would be looking for Peterson. You feel guilty because you didn't get to him soon enough. So you locked yourself down here to beat the shit out of something instead of deal with the fact that there wasn't anything you could have done and Clint got hurt."

Natasha didn't say anything. Instead she just looked at him and clenched her fists. Her eyes were dry because any tears she had were long gone.

Phil just sighed and started his way back to the doors of the gym. "Clint's going to be awake soon and I'm sure he would want you there when he does."

Natasha leaved and for a moment had no idea what to do. She didn't know if she could face Clint again because Colson was right in saying she felt like this was all her fault. Mainly because it was. If she had never killed Peterson's son none of this would have happened. Clint would still be able to hear. She wasn't sure until she remembered that night they did recon in the rain before everything went to crap.

 _"I'm with you Tasha, to the end of this mission and every mission after."_

Now she just had to be there for him.


	2. Chapter 1

**(A/N) Hey so as some of you may know my both of my Clintasha fanfics have titles based on songs I think fit their relationship. So I've decided to make a playlist for our favorite spies. You can go on my profile and click on the link to my 8tracks profile if you want to listen to it. The title of the playlist is First Defeat there are also some other marvel playlists on there if you wanna listen to them.**

* * *

When Natasha entered Clint's room what felt like hours later- when in reality it was only the time it took her to run to the locker room and change into whatever was in her locker which happened to be a standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. issued zip up and athletic shorts. She didn't care about how she looked though, all that mattered was getting to Clint's room before he woke up. Because Phil was right and she had be there when her partner woke up. He was also right when he said that she felt a large amount of guilt over what happened, of course she did, but it was time to get over that for now because Clint needs all the strength he can get.

Phil didn't look surprised when she entered. He noted how her hair still clung to her neck from the sweat produced by her impromptu workout. It was obvious that she didn't waste time with a shower. But he doubted Clint would care.

He checked his watch. "You're here three minutes before I thought you would."

She shrugged as she pushed down the barrier to Clint's bed so that she could sit on the edge of the mattress. "I took a shortcut." Natasha wasn't surprised in the slightest that he had her expected reaction down to the time she would get to Clint's room. To be honest she expected it. "How do you wanna handle this?"

He took a turn to shrug and sunk lower into his chair that seemed to be planted at Clint's side since they had arrived to base. "I honestly have no idea. I scheduled a hearing exam tomorrow morning so we can see the extent of the damage, but until we know exactly what we're dealing there isn't much we can do except keep him calm."

Natasha nodded and turned to Clint. The bandages that wrapped around his head had been changed as well as the ones around his nearly healed shoulder wound. His features were relaxed though his eyes started to twitch beneath their closed lids signalling that he was about to wake up.

A pad of memo paper and a sharpie sat was handed to Natasha by her handler who she thanked with a quick smile. Quickly she wrote her message on the paper in large letters so they would be easier for Clint's drug addled mind to comprehend. She held the pad in front of her and waited for Clint to wake up.

"Let's do this."

When Clint woke up his mind was far less focused than he would have liked. He grimaced at the sensation of whatever sedative that had been in his body wore off. There was nothing he hated more than sedatives- their only purpose was to numb the senses and knock him out. Even worse they left him feeling nauseous but not enough for his body to do something about it, even if he was sick enough for himself to throw up he could feel that he hadn't eaten any real food in a long time. Immediately Clint knew that he had been out for a few days. Natasha was going to kill him.

Then he remembered. The memory of why he was sedated in the first place struck him along with the sensation that he couldn't hear anything no matter how hard he tried to. If the sedation had wanted him to have a slow, peaceful, awakening then it was out of luck.

His eyes darted open and he tried to push back on the bed to find that he had, once again, been restrained. This time a heavy bandage was wrapped around his thumb- an injury that he didn't remember getting. That wasn't the most troubling thing that he realised though. The winner of that title was the deep silence that he was stuck in. He was deaf.

A hand fell on his and he flinched away from it on reflex. His senses were too muddled to still make any sense of what he was seeing- which was essentially a mass of swirling colors- the fact that he couldn't properly see made his panic worse. He could sense that there were people near him but he couldn't tell who they were.

Slowly his sight came back into focus and the first thing that he saw was Natasha. She looked like she hadn't slept in a few days and was sweaty for some reason. Her bright red hair was tied back like a second it was a second thought- strands of hair had fallen from the loose binding. If he wasn't so panicked he'd tell her how beautiful she was.

Her green eyes caught his and she looked down at what she was holding in front of her and back to him. _Read this._ Is what he interpreted as he looked down to the notepad she held.

In giant capital letters written in Natasha's handwriting which was a constant mix of elegance and chaos, which was fitting. It took his mind a few seconds longer than he would have like to process what was written but in the end his mind got the message.

 _Relax._

Clint took a moment to follow the one word demand. He found a spot on the ceiling to focus on and just focused on calming himself down. It took some doing but he got his breathing under control along with his heart that had been thumping harder than necessary.

It could have been hours later or a few minutes, his sense of time was shot from his foggy mind, but he focused back on Natasha who had been joined by Phil. He had no idea when that had happened or when Phil had even gotten to his room. Clint made a mental note that he was going to have to keep a constant watch of his surroundings.

He opened his mouth to speak but Phil held up a hand to stop him. Clint was never good at following orders and talked anyways. "What happened?" His throat felt like he had swallowed glass, but that was the last thing on his mind. "Why can't I hear?"

Natasha scribbled something on a blank sheet of paper and held it up for him.

 _What's the last thing you remember?_

He raced back through his memory looking for the spot that didn't exist. "The Hungarian, he found us in the vault. But before that my memory is like swiss cheese."

It was weird not hearing himself speak. If it wasn't for his mouth making the movements that it was used to he wouldn't have any indication that he was speaking at all. Even with his mouth moving he had no idea if what he was saying was loud enough to understand.

With thin patience he watched Natasha write down her next message. He was already getting tired of this, something that Phil noticed. With one look Clint's nerves were calmed. In his mind he called the relaxing effect that one weighted look from his handler gave him The Phil Effect. It seemed fitting but that could have been the drugs making him a bit more loopy than normal.

 _Do you know ASL?_

He shook his head. He never had the need.

She took a heavy breath and held up a finger saying that she would take a minute to write down her explanation. He noticed her biting her lip when she didn't know which words to use.

 _The Hungarian, he cut your ear drums. You hit your head shortly after and fell into a coma for a week. That's probably why you're memory is spotty. Phil scheduled an appointment tomorrow morning to figure out the extent of the damage._

He nodded. It was a lot to take in and he didn't know where to start. A gush of wind stopped his slow processing and he looked up to see Phil closing the door behind him as he left Clint's room. Inwardly Clint swore at himself for letting his guard down.

Natasha's hand barely made it to his before she had his attention. She noticed that his eyes were darting around the room. They would rest for a moment before the grey blue storm would shift around the room. Her stomach dropped when she realized how on edge he was feeling with the loss of being able to hear someone sneaking up on him.

Keeping her movements slow she removed the restraints around his wrists. Clint followed her every movement as she slid off the leather cuffs. He nodded a thanks to her, part of him didn't see the need to speak if he couldn't hear. It was a selfish thought but it still consumed him. All the time while he was answering Natasha's questions, with every sound he made but couldn't hear, his situation seemed more hopeless.

She wrote out another message. This one she seemed almost afraid to show him, something that Clint noticed right away and set him slightly on edge.

 _Do you remember us doing recon the night before we broke into the vault?_

Automatically Clint nodded. He doubted he would have forgotten, then again he didn't remember losing his hearing so it was probably a fair concern of her's to have.

"Does Phil know?" Part of him wondered if the words he said even made sense. He couldn't hear them to find out. He mentally kicked himself for not learning sign language when Natasha offered to teach him it a few months ago, which was aggravatingly ironic. Out of the fifteen languages he knew well enough to jump into any conversation none of them were near the help that knowing how to communicate without Natasha having to take a minute to write everything down. In all of ASL he knew one phrase, 'where's the nearest hospital?' That's it. Not very helpful when he was already in a hospital.

Natasha didn't waste time on writing down her next answer. She simply nodded.

Clint threw his head back into his soft, but not too soft, hosptial issued pillows. Even though he was probably going to be out of the field for the rest of his life, an issue he purposely avoided thinking about, now that Phil knew he would have to tell Fury. That meant long, boring, invasive meetings about Natasha and his relationship.

Sensing his inner turmoil Natasha held up a hand to signal him to wait while she explained.

 _He's not putting it in his report unless he knows that you can't do field work._

For some reason that angered him. What did Phil mean when that he didn't know if Clint was able to do field work. It was obvious to Clint. He was a liability now. He had seen agents with less grievous injuries than his taken out of field. Even if he was allowed back in, for some reason unknown, he doubted that he would take any mission offered to him. If Clint couldn't even notice his handler had left the room until the breeze from the door hit him there was no way he could keep Natasha safe. She deserved better than him.

He couldn't tell her that though. She would just try to talk him into staying and she would only get hurt because of him, or he would get hurt cause he didn't hear her warning and she would blame herself for his death. Clint cared for her to deeply, more deeply than made it able to call what they had love- which was to childish of a word for their intense bond anyways.

No, he would wait until he had Fury alone before he made his plans to withdraw himself from field. Because to Clint a thousand years of sitting behind a desk was worth it as long as Natasha was safe.


	3. Chapter 2

**(A/N) So school is finally over (yay!) So for the completion of another year of school the universe decided to give me a gift. Great right? No. Because I now have to go and get my laptop repaired because a stupid screw fell out and I have no idea where it is. That leaves me writing this on my grandma's crappy desktop. So basically I'm not in a great mood. But it's been I while since I've updated this. So here it is.**

* * *

Natasha left Clint's room not long after she had assured Clint that Phil wasn't going to put their relationship into his field report. The archer had just fallen asleep, fatigue and pain medication made it hard for his eyes to stay open after only ten minutes. With all that's he's been through sleep that wasn't caused by heavy sedatives or coma was the best thing for him. And as much as she wanted to stay by his side right now she had to talk to Phil.

She wasn't' the least bit surprised when he was standing right outside the door with a question ready to go.

"How is he?" Phil glanced into the room before Natasha closed the door. He was relieved to see Clint resting peacefully, though also disappointed because he had barely seen his agent awake since he had come out of his coma.

"He's as good as he can be." She closed the door to her partner's room softly not realizing that the noise of it slamming would have done nothing to wake him. "He's mainly having issues with lack of communication. He didn't say anything but I could tell me having to write everything I wanted to say to him was making him exercise his patience."

Phil didn't really expect anything else. Clint wasn't known for his patience when it came to anything. His brain calculated the trajectory of every aim in seconds so he didn't need to wait when shooting unless it was a direct order. Waiting for someone to do something that used to be as easy as them opening their mouths and making noises it wasn't a surprise that Clint was already annoyed with the impromptu communication.

"How long do you think it would take to teach him sign language?"

Natasha thought for a few moments. It wasn't the first time that she had taught Clint a language, he had an ear for them. But now he couldn't hear her explain what each word meant. "The basics I doubt would take more than a few weeks"

"In a perfect world he'll be approved for hearing aids and have them at that point."

Natasha chuckled darkly at Phil's comment. "In a perfect world he wouldn't need them in the first place." She crossed her arms and looked down, ashamed. "If I had gotten to him sooner."

"That's not healthy thinking Agent Romanoff."

Natasha would have jumped if she wasn't used to having people trying to sneak up on her all the time. Still she was startled that had managed to get close enough to talk to her without her seeing him. She marked it down as stress and exhaustion and kept it in mind to try and get some form of rest soon.

"Doctor, what are you doing down here?" She asked genuinely having no idea why the psychiatrist was walking over to them.

"Just visiting another one of my patients and thought I would stop by." He smiled kindly at her and shook Phil's hand. "Agent Coulson, it's been to long."

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?" He joked returning the smile. It made Natasha pause because she could see right through his faked kindness to see that he was no where near thrilled to see him. Phil was too tense, it could have just been the stress of recent events catching up to him.

Natasha made a mental note of Phil's body language and moved on to listening to the what Hall had to say.

"Well I'm not here for purely personal reasons. According to Clint's file I'm still his acting psychiatrist so I was wondering if it was okay if I talked to him." He pointed towards the door as to ask if he could enter.

"He just fell asleep." Phil answered automatically. To quickly almost.

Natasha gave him a sideways glance before turning to the doctor. "We can't let you in even if he was." She pointed to the keycard scanner near the handle of the door. "Fury isn't taking any chances, no unauthorized personnel allowed inside. So you're going to have to get a keycard from him if you want to enter."

"Locks on hospital doors," Hall noted, "isn't that risky?"

Natasha shook her head. "If something goes wrong the doctors get alarmed and when they get in proximity the door automatically unlocks. Other than that everyone who goes in and out of that door get's catalogued."

"That's a bit overkill don't you think? Do you think Peterson will really try to attack Agent Barton in the largest S.H.I.E.L.D. base?"

"We aren't taking any chances." Phil said sharply. "Now if you excuse me I have to get back to my agent." He pulled out his I.D. card, scanned it and entered the room in a flash. Clearly not wanting to be around the psychiatrist for long.

To make up for Phil's rudeness Natasha gave an almost diplomatic smile. "Thank you for stopping by."

He nodded and turned to leave as she entered Clint's room as well. Once the doctor had rounded the corner he stopped and pulled out his phone, checking over his shoulder he wrote a message.

 _Target is on lock down. Slight delay._

* * *

Natasha stared at Phil, who had taken to pacing in front of Clint's bed with an angry look on his face, she had never seen him so livid with anyone besides the man who laid in the bed completely unaware as to what was happening.

"What has your tie in a twist?" She asked and he barely took the time to look at her. Rolling her eyes she stood directly in front of him to effectively block his path.

"Why didn't you tell me he was your assigned psychiatrist?" He accused.

"You never asked so why would I tell you? What's your problem with him anyways I've never seen you get that annoyed with anyone, except for when Clint breaks protocol. So what did do? Steal your honor or some macho shit like that?"

"As far as I know he didn't do anything I just don't trust him. It's completely irrational, but I just have one of those gut instincts that you can't explain. I don't trust him with you, I don't trust him with Clint."

Natasha just stared at him blankly. "You're right that is irrational. Besides if you don't trust him why did you let him work with Clint?"

Phil scoffed and turned towards his downed agent with a look that was reminiscent. "Because Clint is god damned stubborn and in the beginning he wanted to do anything he could to spite me. After a while he got better at doing what I told him without doing the exact opposite but by that time he stopped going to to his appointments and he only went to see him and handful of times in the past four years. I kept my mouth shut for the most part."

"Would it make you feel better if I did some research on him just to prove to you that there's nothing insidious going on?"

Phil raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't think I've already done that?"

She sighed in return. "Obviously you did, but you know that no one can find dirt on people like I can. Especially if Clint could be in danger which, for the record, I don't find very likely."

A ridiculous amount of relief passed over Phil and plopped himself down in the deceptively uncomfortable chair. "Thanks Natasha. I hope you don't think that I'm crazy."

"Of course I think you're crazy. But I also know of a few experiences were your instincts were spot on. So try not to attack Hall in a back alley and beat answers out of him just yet."

"No promises." Phil smirked as Natasha left the room to go and do whatever invasive spy shit she did to get all information on the doctor. He turned his attention back to his injured agent happily knowing that soon they would have better information on his stasis the next morning.


	4. Chapter 3

" _Get back!" Barney yelled. His arms were stretched out in front of Clint protectively. The older of the brothers hid his fear well; not even his hand trembled when he had every reason to run away screaming in terror. "Don't hurt him!"_

 _Clint gripped onto the back of his brother's shirt like a life line. Their father had a tendency to drink too much, and drinking led to his father's rage. Clint never liked when this happened but he knew better than to say anything about it to anyone. The first time that Clint ended up in the hospital after one of his father's drunken rages Barney tried calling the police on their dad. Their dad had found Barney before the call could go through and the punishment for the call made sure that the brother's knew that they couldn't ask for help._

 _Still Clint wanted to beg for help as their father, whose face was reddened with rage, came towards them yelling profanities. Clint knew not to look to his mother for help. She always pretended not to be able to see what was happening. Barney had told him long ago that they were on their own._

" _You fucking spoiled kids!" Their father yelled nearing them, the near empty bottle of whiskey still gripped in his hand. "Trying to tell me what to do in my own god damn house! Just who do you think you two little punks are?"_

" _Stop!" Clint yelled into Barney's shirt before he could stop himself. Tears streamed down his face even though every part of him screamed about not letting his father see any weakness that could be preyed on._

 _Barney reached his right arm back behind him to comfort his younger brother, who gripped on to the hand like it would protect him. He moved his other arm quickly into his back pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife that he held in front of him defensively._

 _The drunken man almost looked impressed. "Well would you look at that? Honey," he called his wife's attention, "look at your son. What are you gonna do with that, huh? Are you gonna kill me?"_

 _Barney gripped his brother's hand tightly. "Just stay back!"_

 _Harold Barton laughed. "Or what? What are you gonna do?" He looked at the bottle in his hand before smashing it on a wall causing the end to break off effectively creating a weapon. "Ain't no turning back from this you little shit. You gonna raise that little punk on your own on the streets? You wouldn't last a week. You would be back here in a week beggin' me to take you back. So what's it gonna be you little-"_

 _He was cut short. Drunken eyes fell down to a swiss army knife that was planted directly above his heart. Hazed surprise was the last expression the brother's saw on their father's face as he fell to the ground._

 _Barney breathed heavily. He looked in his hand, where his pocket knife had been moments before, then moved to Clint, who still remained in a knife throwers stance._

 _Clint felt numb. He had just killed his father. He could hear his mother shrieking in the background. He had seen his father coming towards his brother with the broken glass bottle and something had broken in him. The next thing he knew he had taken the knife from his brother and in the next…_

Clint's eyes snapped open. He barely registered his surrounding before he made to sit up finding that his hands were restrained. Panic almost overtook him but a gentle warmth spread over his cheek. The warm feeling was slowly recognized as a small hand that had rested on his cheek, he also noted that the hand stroked his cheekbone soothingly. He forced himself to focus on the hand rested lightly on the side of his face and followed an arm up to a pair of warm green eyes. The color of life and luck that he had only found in one person. Natasha.

He couldn't help but smile when he realised that she was there. The hell of his nightmare made her presence only more welcomed. Actively he ignored how much he wanted to hear her voice.

Feeling to emotionally drained to do much else he just gazed up at her instead of saying anything. She had no makeup and and her hair was messy and tied back carelessly. As far as Clint was concerned she never needed makeup to look beautiful, she was just naturally stunning. But the lack of it made her exhaustion plain on her. Dark smudges ran under her eyes that held the true amount of exhaustion she had inside. He wondered when the last time she had a full night's rest.

Without taking her hand away from its position of keeping him tethered to reality Natasha held up a piece of notebook paper just like she had yesterday. _How are you feeling?_

Finding his voice he responded. "Better." It was true, his head was less fuzzy than it was yesterday. After getting his first real sleep in a week had helped greatly. He hadn't even realized he was out of it yesterday, or what he assumed was yesterday.

Another note was held up. _You had a nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?_ He shook his head. The last thing on his lists of wants was to relive what his subconscious had just rudely reminded him of. _Are you up for me teaching you some ASL?_

Leave it to Natasha to find the perfect way to distract him from his crap childhood. Clint had never gotten to go to junior high, let alone high school, so whenever the opportunity to learn something new presented itself he took it. And maybe learning how to communicate would make him feel a little less alone in the water.

Natasha took off his restraints after he promised not to even think about touching any of the tubes that were attached to him. Another note was held up for him to see.

 _Let's get started._

* * *

Coulson arrived a few hours later. He wasn't at all surprised to see that Clint had already mastered the alphabet and was moving on to learning phrases that he would most often need to know. Clint had always been good with languages. By the time that Phil had found him Clint had already taught himself eight and had the grips five others. With S.H.I.E.L.D. resources the number had more than doubled in the past eight years. Luckily there were always languages to learn.

Clint was less tense than he had been the day before but he was still on red alert picking up on Clint's entrance before Natasha had.

"Time for his hearing test." He informed Natasha who turned and quickly spelled out a message for Clint who just nodded. Phil could see how nervous Clint was. Nervous wasn't even the correct adjective for what he was seeing in his agent. Outright terror barely hidden by the mask he usually put over his emotions was a more accurate depiction of the emotion Phil saw.

Making his way over to his charges side Phil placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. _Everything is going to be fine_ , was the message he was trying to send. And by the way that Clint minutely relaxed Phil could tell that his message was received.

A nurse entered a few moments later pushing a wheelchair in front of her. The second Clint saw it he was complaining.

"Natasha tell Clint to shut the hell up and get his ass in the chair." The assassin smirked at her handlers outburst and relayed the message to Clint who signed something quickly. "What did he say?"

She didn't answer, just looked disappointed in herself. "I knew I shouldn't have taught him that word." She muttered giving Phil all the knowledge that he needed to know that he probably didn't want to know what Clint was saying about him right now.

From the short trip from Clint's bed to the small wheelchair the archer was exhausted and nothing pissed him off more than that. He would need to do some serious reconditioning to accommodate for not moving his body for the past week. Not only was there the weak stiffness that plagued his body but there was a dizziness that he hadn't really noticed until he had sat up and moved off the bed. Finding equilibrium was nearly impossible and he was suddenly thankful for the wheelchair; there was no way he was going to make it to wherever the hell he was going in this condition. Especially since his alertness was still down which mixed with dizziness turned into a complete lack of awareness for his surroundings. He hadn't even noticed they had left his room until they were entering the room where he would learn if he would ever be able to hear anything again. Not even with sarcasm could he say that he was looking forward to this.

Clint watched as a conversation was held around him. If he focused he could pick out a few words by reading the lips of those speaking. Though without context it meant nothing to him. Anger started to boil in him. He felt like a bystander, off to the side and forgotten about. The irritation only grew the longer the conversation went on, but he didn't show it, he was too stubborn for that.

Eventually Natasha got his attention and quickly spelled out _you ready?_ He just nodded. He was as ready as he would ever be. He just hoped that was enough.


	5. Chapter 4

"Agent Romanoff?" The doctor who had been running Clint's hearing test called out of the exam room. Little did he know that the assassin he was looking or had been leaning against the wall behind the now opened door.

"How is he?" She asked coming out from behind the door. She felt a little bad for scaring the doctor who nearly jumped out of his skin, but at the same time she felt the same pride she always did when she snuck up on a mark.

The doctor took a moment to recollect himself, muttering something under his breath along the lines of, "god damn spies." Clearing his throat he regained his composure. "Please step inside." His fake smile, because he was still momentarily upset about being snuck up on, could have won awards.

When Natasha went inside the first thing she saw was Clint sitting in the hospitals wheelchair next to a large machine that presumably was what was used to see how well he could still hear. Her archer seemed to be thinking deeply, not noticing her entry. Instead he focused on the piece of paper in front of him. Gently she put a hand on his shoulder and was surprised when he didn't jump at the sudden contact, but rather deflate and look up to her with a sad smile that answered the question she didn't ask.

 _I'm okay._

The doctor watched them with curiosity. He had seen enough partnerships that had evolved into something more to know what was going on between them. Knowing how stressful their jobs were so he made a conscious decision to forget seeing anything that would suggest a romantic relationship and silently gave them his best wishes. Last thing those two needed was to be separated; even more so now that Agent Romanoff was his current translator. Though the doctor hoped to fix that.

"Well, , in all your partner was lucky." He started motioning to the chair at the side of the room for the young agent to sit in. After her just staring at him like he had grown a third eye for a minute he continued. "He lost about 80% of his hearing, but while his ears continue to heal I'm optimistic that percentage will lower."

"But," she led on knowing that there was some more bad news up the doctor's sleeve.

"He won't regain full hearing in either ear. Even if he heals spectacularly there is too much damage for a full recovery." He observed how the assassin's hands tightened their grip on the archers shoulders.

"You said he was lucky. From what I'm hearing it's looking pretty much the exact opposite of that."

"He's lucky because though he still has healing to do I've cleared him for being able to wear regular hearing aids. It will be a while before he is on active duty again, but if all goes well you two will be back out in the field in no time."

Natasha nodded as she was slightly lost in thought until a hand brushed hers. She looked down to see Clint who asked the same question, the same way, she did a few minutes before. She gave him the same encouraging, fake smile.

Clint turned back to the doctor. "I have some concerns about the aids."

"You wanna know if they're gonna fall apart the second things get rocky, don't ya?" He asked then patiently waited for Natasha to translate.

"I'd like to be able to hear if something comes up behind me, yeah. These things are going to have to be able to resist emp's and water damage. That's not negotiable, if they can't last in the field I'm not going back out there. I don't care if Fury tells me to or the goddamn security council themselves give me the order. It won't happen."

Natasha's grip around his shoulders tightened protectively. She was going to be pissed at him for threatening to leave the field, even if he had completely valid reasons. He could already sense a difficult conversation coming up in the near future.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that." The doctor smirked; he pulled out a small box from his desk and opened it showing off the two small metallic devices. "These are a humanitarian project Stark Industries started a while back to improve public image. They never made it past development, but we managed to snag a few pairs before they were dumped in some warehouse. There's a bit of work to be done before they are ready, but R&D have it marked as top priority."

Clint took a while to process what he was being told. Part of him wanted to jump up and run around and flip off the world, for he had his ticket back in. But another part of him wasn't sold still. He desperately wanted to tell that part of his brain to go to hell.

"Why didn't they make development?" Natasha said and signed simultaneously.

The doctor turned sheepish but held eye contact. "They were had a habit of exploding at seemingly random times." The assassins gave him comically shocked looks. "Don't worry though. We're working on it." He then pulled another box from his desk and held it up proudly. "These, on a slightly less morbid note have near zero percent chance of blowing up in your ears. Fury had the measurements for them taken while you were unconscious so they would be ready by the time you woke up. We told him there was a chance you wouldn't be able to use them and he said something along the lines off 'I'm the director of this agency. Do what I fucking tell you."

Natasha smirked. Fury never was one for being told no, which is why he and Clint have somewhat of a rocky relationship every now and then. Because if there is one thing that Clint loves to do, it's to say no; if it's to an authority figure that's even better.

"You ready to try them out Clint?" The doctor opened the box revealing two skin colored devices.

Clint nodded, not very vigorously as his head still was a bit sensitive to being moved around quickly thanks to get hit hard on the head twice in a short amount of time. He was shown how to turn on the aids and how to turn up and down the volume. He was also told that they wouldn't make his hearing sound the same as it had and that everything would sound slightly mechanical, but the ones that were in production would sound closer to how he was used to things.

The doctor helped Clint put in the aids before showing himself out of the room to give Clint some privacy.

Reaching up to turn the aids on Clint paused. There was a turning deep in his gut and he realized that he was, with embarrassment, that he was afraid. Afraid they wouldn't work, that the doctor was wrong and that he would never hear again. Afraid for Natasha having to get a new partner. Afraid that she would rather work alone and get killed because he didn't have whatever scum that she was after a loosened finger away from an arrow in the eye.

Natasha read him like a book. She knelt down in front of him and looked him dead in the eye. She was there for him, was the message that she sent without hand gestures or written words. _I'm here for you if this works, and I'll follow you wherever you need to go if it doesn't._

He nodded understanding, and with a click he turned the devices on.

* * *

"It's been awhile Agent Barton." smiled at the glowering archer who was squirming slightly in his hospital bed. "Are you uncomfortable? Should I cal or a doctor?"

Barton glared and stubbornly stopped all movement. "I'm fine, Nat's just being overprotective. She won't let me leave this room, even though I've told her that I'm fine at least a thousand times. I'm basically crawling up the walls."

"You were in a coma for eight days agent." He reasoned.

"And I've been awake for nearly as long. You know before Natasha came around I used to just leave I was conscious and right headed enough to recite my ID number. Now I'm being forced to heal and be safe; it's awful. I've been working here for near eight years now, and I think this is the longest I've ever stayed in medical. Except for that time in Dublin, or Sao Paulo. Though that one wasn't technically my, or Natasha's, idea,"

"Clint," the doctor said calmly, "you're rambling."

Looking slightly embarrassed the archer apologized. "Sorry, I've been doing a lot of that ever since I got these," he motioned towards the hearing aids. "I've been driving Natasha off the walls so much that she left so to go do some research on Peterson; though I think that she just needed some peace and quiet."

Hall looked very interested at the topic of his partner. "I've heard that you two have started a relationship on your last mission. How is that going?"

Clint gave the doctor a teasing look. "I'm not one to kiss and tell Doc." The reaction Clint received was stone cold and expecting, he wasn't going to get out of this line of questioning with a joke. "Look Doc I'll talk to you about a lot of things that I don't want to, but not Natasha. Why are you so focused on her anyways? I mean, not to sound like an attention hog, but I just loss and got back my fucking hearing, and you want to talk about if I have a girlfriend?"

The doctor backtracked. "You're right," his tone was slightly strained from annoyance, and Clint was grew a bit suspicious of the doctor's new found interest in Natasha. The doctor suddenly coughed. "I'm a parched do you mind if I have something to drink?"

"Sure, help yourself." Clint motioned to the pitcher of water on the other end of the room.

The doctor poured himself a cup of water before turning to Clint and asking if he would like a cup. The archer nodded and the doctor poured him a cup. Clint trusted the doctor enough that he looked away from someone preparing him a drink; just long enough to miss the doctor put something in it.

Hall passed over Clint's water who raised his glass up for a toast. They tapped their plastic cups together and drank.

* * *

Natasha had been staring at the same files for the past few hours. She hadn't been able to find anything bad about . Which in its own respect had made her grow increasingly suspicious of him. There was no record of him even ever a speeding ticket, something that probably seemed innocent to whoever recruited him, but Natasha always found that people who don't have any kind of record usually are lying about who they were. But this wasn't enough for her to bring to Fury. She needed something concrete if she was going to get the director to do anything. So that's how she ended up breaking into the doctors office while he was out on lunch break.

She had dug through all of his books, his computer, his desk, everything and found nothing. About to give up and try somewhere else Natasha noticed something she hadn't before. The carpet in the corner of the room was slightly pulled up like it had been torn off the put back down. She went over to the area and pulled the grey carpeting away to find a piece of the metal flooring had removed and a small safe had been placed in the floor.

It took her about ten minutes to open the safe and another two for her to be running through the halls to Coulson's office.

"Did you find?" He asked when she burst into the room; the door slamming shut behind her.

Natasha held up a photograph depicting and the Councilmen. "They're fucking brothers Coulson. How did no one figure this out?" She ran a hand through her hair and motioned to the phone. "You have to call Fury and lock this place down. Hall is our only lead on Peterson."

Phil was already dialing. He barely had to wait for two rings before Fury picked up. "Fury, it's Phil. We need the latest location on Hall." He paused before swearing and running out of the room without even putting the phone back on the receiver.

Natasha didn't have to even have to ask where they were going.

Clint was sitting in the middle of his bed, his legs criss crossed, alone in his room bored out of his mind. He twirled a small arrowhead, the rock kind the last time he did it with an actual arrowhead he ended up with twenty stitches in his hand. Phil had gotten it for him as a first year at SHIELD present. He almost dropped it though when the door to his room slammed open revealing a panicked Natasha and Phil.

Unsure what to say to the two clearly stressed agents he just settled for an awkward, "hi."

"Clint was Hall here?" Phil asked looking around the room for any threat. Natasha did mirrored their handler.

"Yeah, he left like five minutes ago." He looked at them both like they were crazy. "Can I ask what this is about or are you to going to be all shady about it?"

Natasha went to his left and put her hands in his. "Clint I need you to think. Did he do anything suspicious while he was here? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"So you're going to be shady, good to know." He joked but answered her anyways. "It seemed pretty normal. He asked about you a lot, which was a bit weird, other than that it was normal. Now can you tell me what's going on Tash?"

She ignored him and turned to Phil. "Lock down the building; he could still be here."

"Already on it."

"STOP." Clint yelled gaining their attention. "Something is going on, and if I'm to be any help I need to know what's happening." He took a moment to clear his throat, it had started to bother him a few minutes before. "The way you two are acting it's like you think," he coughed into the crook of his arm, "Hall is working with Peterson. Is he?" He started coughing again, this time it took a few moments to gather himself and when he did he saw worried eyes aimed at him.

"Clint are you okay?" Phil asked; his phone lowering from his ear, but not turned off.

Clint was about to answer when he suddenly couldn't help but cough again. He was caught on surprise by it and couldn't put an arm up to cover his mouth. Instead a spray of blood came out and stained the bed in front of him. Suddenly it was extremely hard to breath, and alarms blared around him.

"Clint!" Natasha caught him as he fell backwards. "Clint, did Hall give you anything?" She had to ask quickly before he passed out. Her eyes followed his as he looked over the discarded cup of water sitting next on his bedside table.

"C-n't... brea... N-tash..." He choked out. He coughed again and more blood trickled down his face.

"You're going to be fine, Clint. Just stay with me, we're going to fix this." Natasha pleaded as she gripped his hand tightly with one hand as the other stroked his hair soothingly. "I promise you I will find Peterson. He won't get away with this, I promise. Just stay with me."

He tried to say something but the world blacked out just as the doctors started running in. He barely had enough consciousness to think _why is it always me?_

* * *

 **(A/N) So guess who's still here! Sorry it's been so long I'm just super lazy and I've been unsure about how this chapter was going to play out. Mainly because I have zero medical know how so it's been a lot of webmd searches.**

 **A quick note about why I didn't show Clint hearing again with the aids. The decision was made to exclude that because I have never lost my hearing so I don't know how it would feel to loose that and gain it. I had no one to ask about how it feels to have that happen, and even so it's extremely personal and I believe in that you shouldn't write such personal experiences for a culture that you aren't in. You can write for them but not as them. An example would be writing a trans character but not writing how it feels to be trans if you yourself aren't. It's just a guideline I have for my own writing.**

 **Chapters will probably get more regular when school starts and I use writing as a tool for procrastinating from my** **homework.**

 **Until then.**


	6. Chapter 5

Peterson didn't wait for the phone to finish it's first ring when he answered it. "Is it done?"

"Yes." His brother answered plainly.

"Good, I'm sick of hiding in this shit hole."

"She'll have to go to you for the antidote, so there won't be much more of a wait. He won't last a week without it." His brother paused before continuing on with a concerned tone. "Are you sure we should be doing this? The boss won't be happy that we've taken things into our own hands."

"The boss shouldn't have told me that the Black Widow killed my son then. There was nothing else I could have done after finding out that information. Whatever happened after that is their fault, and everything that happens now is in our hands. So send the message to the Widow. I'm tired of waiting."

"Again with the orders. You do remember that I'm older than you, right?" His joking tone broke through the ex-Councilman's grief and rage for a moment. Just like it always had.

"Just get it done." He said again, this time a slight smile could be heard through his order. They exchanged a quick goodbye before ending the call. He set down the phone and twirled the small vial of antidote in his hand.

* * *

"I think he's waking up."Said the voice that broke through the darkness that was Clint's mind. The voice was familiar. Clint could remember it giving him orders and sarcastic remarks. Phil, it was Phil's voice that woke him up.

 _Typical,_ Clint thought as he tried to drift back to sleep. Just as he was about to fall back into unconsciousness a hand gripped his, not Phil's it was too small to be Phil's, and another brushed his hair back. It confused Clint enough for him to open his eyes. At first there was just a blur of colors, but as soon as he could make out that the copper hue saw was hair he smiled.

"We gotta stop meeting like this." His words came out in a whisper, and god was his throat sore. He was about to complain about it when Natasha silenced him.

"Try not to talk, okay?" She grabbed him a cup of water and helped him sit up for him to drink; something he did almost desperately which resulted in him coughing harshly. "Take it easy. You've just been through the wringer."

"Feels like I'm still in the wringer." Clint muttered lying back and feeling every ache and pain in his body that were starting to come back to him. His throat hurt terribly as did his abdomen and lungs. Not only did his body ache but it felt like an elephant was sitting on him, making it hard to breath and move.

"I don't doubt that." Said Phil from the other side of his bed.

As Clint turned his head to look at the handler he noticed that he was no longer in the custom hospital room that he had been a reluctant patient in the past few weeks. It looked like he, and all of his hospital equipment, were moved into some kind of warehouse.

"We moved you off base. After what happened with Hall we couldn't be sure that there weren't other agents working for Peterson in SHIELD." Phil explained though the look of confusion didn't wear from Clint's face. "You were poisoned; we aren't sure what Hall gave you was yet, but whatever it was seems to have stopped. For now at least."

Clint still couldn't wrap his head around that it was Dr Hall that hurt him. He had confided in the man for years; many of his darkest memories and thoughts were shared with his once trusted psychiatrist. How hadn't he seen that Hall was the enemy.

"He knows everything about me." Clint's voice was quiet and filled with rage. The man he once trusted could easily sell all of his secrets. "I can't believe I fucking blindly trusted that guy. He knows _everything_." If he felt like he had enough strength he would be hiding his face with his hands. The feeling of embarrassment and betrayal was as paralyzing as whatever poison was in his veins; a feeling he wasn't unfamiliar with.

"Clint," Natasha tightened her grip bringing his attention back to her. "There was no way you could have known. He probably had no intention of betraying you when he met you."

"Yeah, but he still did." Clint's voice was dripping with the venom of being deceived and not noticing until he was spitting up blood. He was probably good as dead right now and it was all his fault. "I should have known," he turned to Coulson, "you knew. You never trusted him."

Phil put a comforting hand on his agent's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "I didn't know. I may have not trusted him completely, but I trusted him enough to look after you. And you are not someone that's safety I take lightly. Besides I didn't think that I'd ever get you to find another shrink you felt comfortable enough around to talk to."

"Well good luck ever getting me to trust another one after this." Clint shared a drowsy, fake smile. His vision was going blurry with exhaustion. Fighting the sleepy was his first instinct. as he weakly tossed his head from side to side.

Natasha shushed him and his thin efforts to resist sleep. "It's okay. We'll be right here when you wake up; you don't have to worry about that."

He wasn't worried they wouldn't be there. Clint was worried he wouldn't wake up again. But sleep was something he just wasn't able to fight.

* * *

He did wake up. That he was grateful for, what he saw made him wish to go to sleep again.

Standing at the foot of the mobile bed that he was laid on was his father. The worn, red plaid shirt he wore had a deep stain on the front around the small knife that laid in his heart; handle poking out of his chest. There was also the seemingly ever present anger on his face.

"You died." That was all Clint could think to say. It was definitely a good point to make in his confused startled mind. The man who had scared his childhood and terrorized his adulthood in memories and dreams was standing in front of him. He knew it wasn't a dream, everything was too real for it to be a dream. "How,"

"How am I still alive?" His father asked with a rumbling and furious tone of voice that scared him when he was young.

It apparently had the same effect as an adult, for his heart was beating like he had run a marathon. There was a distant beeping that accompanies the beating, but it is quickly ignored as his father rounds the bed to his left.

"Well it's no thanks to you and that piece of shit brother of yours." He pointed an accusing finger at Clint with new found adrenaline scooted away as far as the bed would let him, which was only about a few inches. "You left me for dead. Imagine how your mother felt watching her youngest become a murderer."

A hand landed on Clint's shoulder making him jump and turn around to see the worn expression on his mother's face. He let out a shuddered breath before finding his voice again. "Mom?"

"Why did you do it Clint?" Her voice was thin and tired, just like he remembered. "We weren't a perfect family by any means, but what you did was unforgivable. Your father was very angry about it."

Words escaped Clint, but unluckily for him his father had plenty.

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it. You spoiled shit's were always trouble. I tried to show you some respect and what did you do; you used me as a god damn dart board. Didn't even check to see if I was dead you just left with your piece of shit brother. Where is he now, huh? He get the sense to leave you too, or did you shove a knife in his heart also?"

That was the line that couldn't be crossed. Rage filled Clint and he swung wildly at his father who easily blocked his punch. The thin, yet strong, arms of his mother wrapped around him from behind and he bucked against them. There was no give as he fought against the arms wound his torso. He went to his last resort of screaming every foul word in every language he could think of, which was a long list of obscenities.

There was nothing he could do as Clint watched his father pull the knife out his chest and hold it up so Clint could see the blood dripping down the silver blade. "Do you want to know how it felt to have a knife stabbed in your chest by your own family? 'Cause I can show ya."

The knife was lifted in the air and Clint wrestled even harder against the arms restraining him, but there was little he could do as his mother's strength was equal to his in this weakened state. All he could do was scream. There was a small pinch on his thigh that was barely registered; all he could focus on was the knife that was still held in the air as his father grabbed the collar of his shirt.

"You deserve this." His father sneered.

The intense look of hatred Clint saw did something that now terrorist or interrogator ever did to him. He was afraid of death, so much so that he closed his eyes and turned his head away from the impending swing of a knife into his chest.

"Clint! Calm down, you're fine." Strange, that wasn't his father's rough voice, or his mother's dead toned one. It was still firm as it ordered him to calm down, but there was concern and a gentleness mixed in as well.

"Nat?" He asked; opening one eye just enough to see if he was right. Part of him suspected to see his father in front of him, but instead stood the beautiful Natasha Romanoff. Phil was behind him with his arms wrapped around Clint's chest. Had he just hallucinated that entire thing? Had he just noticed a doctor who stood to the side; Clint barely caught the sight of the syringe that the Doctor put in the bio-hazard box. Probably some kind of drug to stop the crazy images his mind decided to show him. Had he been that out of touch with reality? "Shit."

"'Shit' would be right." Phil's arms fell away now that he was sure that Clint was back with them; he helped Clint lay back down before speaking to him again. "It was your parents." It wasn't a question, but an acknowledgement that Clint met with a vague nod. "We gave you a small amount of a mild anti-psychotic. It's all we can give you until we figure out what's in your system."

Clint nodded his understanding. He reached to Natasha and grabbed her hand, he didn't even care that there was a man who he didn't know standing a few feet away with the perfect view of what would be grounds for termination if he told anyone.

"Nat, and don't hate me for being so cliche, but if I die,"

Natasha pulled her hands out of his and grabbed his jaw, not to bruise, but to keep his attention on her. "Fuck you, Clint Barton. This isn't some daytime drama that you can give your heroic speech like it will do a damn to make me feel better. This is real, we are real. And I am going to get you out of this or kill everyone who ever had a part to play in killing you."

Clint didn't reel back in the slightest; he hadn't expected any other reaction to be honest. A weak attempt was made to take her hand off her face and into his. The movement was sloppy and uncoordinated, but he still ended up with her hand entwined in his again. "I just wanted to tell you to be happy."

Their eyes had stayed connected, oblivious to any of the other occupants of the room at this point. Natasha was standing strong and fierce, ready to sink her nails into Hall or Peterson's eyes as justice as what had happened to someone she cared so deeply for. While Clint just looked at her with resignation in his eyes, the look of someone who had almost died a million times before and no longer feared it. But there was a glimpse of something in him that didn't want to die. Something that was new.

For a moment Natasha softened and brushed his sweaty hair back then rested her forehead on his. "Stay, and I will be."

Clint wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, just being close to one another, but soon enough he fell asleep again. He just hoped he would wake up to see that hair with a color that showed her fury and her passion. Eyes that locked the world away, but started to let him. And he thought to himself as he drifted off into another unwanted slumber that Natasha Romanoff was definitely worth living for.

* * *

 **(A/N) Who has two thumbs and wasn't gone for two months. You can't see but I'm pointing at myself like a freakin nerd.**

 **Okay cringe worthy note aside I am now officially in school again... yay. This is good for cause now when bio gets boring I think of different heartbreaking stories I want to write because I am evil, so maybe not good for you.**

 **Oh the actual important part of this authors note is that I'm thinking about adding the Young Avengers into this universe. I just read a freak ton of the YA comics and now I'm obsessed with those tragic nerds. Let me know if you're interested, if not I'll probably just post any YA centered works on my AO3 and the characters will only be in crossover events but it won't be connected to the main story line.**

 **Still I highly suggest you all read the Young Avengers comics they are so diverse and wonderful. There's a lot of representation for the LGBT+ community which I love, and the characters are so relatable. So that's my official recommendation, there are a few triggering things which you can PM me about or google if you want to read the comics but need a warning. I'm always here to help so message me if ya need to.**

 **Now I'm going to go read way later then I should and wake up for school at stupid hours of the morning.**


End file.
